


mercy of the fallen

by lucitheangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Dark Castiel, Demon Dean Winchester, Fallen Castiel, Hell, M/M, Season/Series 02, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitheangel/pseuds/lucitheangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean never sold his soul, but went to Hell anyway, and wasn't expecting to find what he did.<br/>Castiel, meanwhile, hasn't felt anything since he followed Lucifer to Hell, but can't stop himself from screwing with Heaven one more time when the Righteous Man arrives.<br/>(That last bit doesn't go quite as Castiel planned it.)<br/>(But then again, neither does anything else.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hell and all it's denizens

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I might finish it if I get time (read: motivation).

It comes as a surprise to Dean Winchester when he finds himself in Hell.  
But then again, it's hardly surprising at all. He may have been a hunter, may have worked hard to save people, but in the end it is not the road to Heaven that's paved with good intentions.  
At least Sam is not here. He doesn't think he could take that; his little brother enduring Hell's tortures for all eternity. Enduring those tortures himself? Well, that's another matter entirely.  
As it turns out, he breaks rather easily. Thirty years on the rack under a particularly foul demon named Alastair, and he's picking up the knife himself almost eagerly.  
He thinks he understands demons a little better, now. Understands the bloodlust, the chaotic natures. He knows now that everyone can break, everyone will turn given time. And once that happens, once anyone gets a glimpse at that darkness and finds it to be reflected in their own soul, it is simply a matter of time until they will use their experience in Hell for truly demonic purposes.  
Perhaps Dean understands demons a little better because he's well on his way to becoming one.

There's a man watching him, Dean notices.  
He's not a demon, that much is obvious. His stance, his expressions are wrong. Demons are barely above animals. This man is a king.  
That, and Dean's recently gained the ability to see past the illusion of a demonic meat suit, and what Dean sees behind this man's face does not remotely resemble a demon.  
It's fascinating. Beautiful.  
The word that springs to mind when Dean sees the crystal-blue tendrils of shimmering smoke only barely touched by Hell's taint, the only word to describe the ragged yet mesmerising wings that extend either side of the man, is _angel_.  
That's ridiculous, of course. What would an angel be doing in hell?

Once Dean is fully demonic (and he can tell when it happens, there's a shift in his soul even though the transition's been in place for years now), the man comes closer. He stands by and watches as Dean rips apart souls on the rack, observes carefully during Dean's nights with Alastair, and Dean should feel a violation of his privacy but he doesn't, can't, because he's far more curious than irritated.  
Dean, in turn, watches the other demons speak in terrified tones of this man and fall to their knees as he passes, and wonders exactly who this stranger is.

He gets his answer sooner rather than later, in the form of cold breath at his neck while he's torturing, and advice on how better to extract pain from his victims.  
He takes it, lets the cold hands of this man's meat suit guide his own, and their victim is screaming like nothing Dean's ever heard before. She's begging, _pleading_ to take up the position of torturer when they're done.  
Dean lets her, releases her bonds with a mere thought if only to get rid of her.  
The man at his back smiles, and asks his name. Dean hesitates; no-one has asked his name in a very long time. Alastair already knows it, and those on his rack don't care to.  
"Dean,' he says, after a pause.  
The man doesn't seem to mind.  
"Dean," he repeats, trying the name out, testing it in his mouth. "I should hope to be seeing you more often, Dean."  
Dean nods because this man is powerful and he's got no desire to end up a pile of ash, but also because he genuinely agrees with the statement.  
"You can call me Castiel," he adds, before vanishing.  
Castiel.  
Maybe he is an angel after all.


	2. kings and the like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. Basically Cas' backstory.

Something was changing.  
Castiel could feel it, it stung his skin and clung to his eyes like spun webs from creatures that wouldn't exist for millennia. The tension in the air was all too tangible for those who knew where to look for it, the deadly sparks that would ignite soon enough, and burn the Heaven they all knew.  
Castiel knew he didn't want to watch it. Couldn't watch it. Couldn't stand to see the home he'd always loved too much warp and twist into a war machine, a guillotine with predetermined victims. He'd never intended to be an observer.  
No, Castiel was going to throw himself into the thick of things because he could, and because he didn't want to wait around and see what they'd all become.  
What _he'd_ become, if he stayed.

Time was odd in heaven, but Castiel had never known any difference. Days could pass in an instant, seconds could last decades. Time was more a feeling than anything else; a vague idea of moving forward.  
So it was with a vague idea of early morning when he crossed the garden to where he knew his brother was. He passed trees, drooping in the weak light, and plants that knew nothing of gravity's laws, and things that humans would never have words for. But the sight around him was of no interest today; he had seen it a thousand times before, and it was not what he'd come for.  
He found Lucifer in the shadow of an ancient oak, limbs loose and ankles crossed. The archangel looked the very picture of relaxation, but Castiel took a glimpse beneath the surface and bore witness to the exceptional anger that would fuel the destruction of everything castiel knew.  
He wanted to hate Lucifer, wanted to share Michael's righteous anger and his Father's glorious wrath, but instead he found himself agreeing. Agreeing with Lucifer's anger (because it was deserved, after all he'd done, _they'd_ done, and their Father chose the flawed disease that was humanity for his love?), his views, his cold logic.  
"Oh, Castiel."  
Castiel flinched as he came back to himself, looking up to find Lucifer's eyes open and sparkling.  
"You know - " he stood in one fluid movement, approaching Castiel quickly but elegantly " - I never thought you, of all angels, would agree with me."  
Castiel remained emotionless, staring at his brother with an empty gaze. If Lucifer wanted to know his thoughts, he could simply snatch them from him, as was his habit. Castiel didn't mind.  
"You know what will happen," Lucifer continued. "What they will do. Our fate will not be a kind one. Tell me, Castiel, are you certain enough in your beliefs to pay the price for them?"  
His beliefs.  
If it were simply humanity, his resentment of them combined with Lucifer's rage, he would have walked away then and there.  
But, for Castiel, it was so much more.  
It was the crack in paradise, the void that would never be filled should he stay, the gaping hole in everyone's peripheral vision that would drive them all insane. It was what heaven would lose when Lucifer was no longer a part of it, and what Lucifer would lose when heaven was no longer a part of him.  
For Castiel, the choice was simple.  
He could follow Lucifer, bear whatever punishment their Father saw fit for their sins, or he could remain and regret.  
Castiel tilted his head, looking Lucifer in the eye, and his next words were unnecessary.  
"I always have been."

Whatever Castiel had pictured, whatever awful punishment he'd thought up in his own head, it hadn't been this.  
This was worse.  
The silence echoed in his head, and he fought the urge to scream, to cover his ears against the nonexistent onslaught, to do _something_ that was not simply stand with his head tilted back and the absence of the host in his ears.  
The silence gave him room to think, and the last thing he wanted to do was think. He didn't want to remember Michael, the seemingly endless Fall, the _pain -_  
But what else was there? He'd never see Heaven again, and Lucifer was lost - locked up, somewhere far deeper than where Castiel was, and he found himself wishing that he was with him - and all he had now was the silence in his head and the barren landscape around him that was only interesting because it wasn't.  
Despite everything, he didn't regret it.


End file.
